


Fugu Fish

by Unicoranglais



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Gen, is it hoshi x hanamura?, is it seriously that, or is hanamura just being hanamura?, who even knows man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10402077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicoranglais/pseuds/Unicoranglais
Summary: Hoshi has a hobby!...It involves trying to kill himself and failing miserably.





	

There was a time where he'd deliberate for an hour or so before setting foot in the place, let alone ordering. But Hoshi didn't bother to so much as linger at the counter these days - he knew the experience far too well. The thrill was fading; some sixty-five shaky visits in, he was starting to suspect this might be his last time.

What had he  _ever_ liked about doing this, anyway-?

He walked straight into the restaurant, head lowered and eyes darting - mafioso check, police check, private detective check, the usual. As much as he'd quite like to be put on death row for what he had done (again and again and _again_ ), he still had a little survival instinct left. He dismissed it as merely wanting to die by his own hand, for the sake of pride, for the sake of no-one saying nice things about him even in a post-mortem... but as he strode, his stomach fluttered under the chatter, hand drifting to backpack at the sight of a tie or dark hat. 

It was ten on a Thursday evening. Private booth, at the back, an inconspicuous black curtain in a dim corner. His time and his place for his little death ritual, for the last however many weeks. He knew the drill; when he got there, slinking under the curtain, he didn't bother trying to sit down. Just stood by the table, stared at the fake candlelight, and waited.

(One day, he'd had a particularly bad time of it - several missed shots, a lost ball, a lost temper - and tried to sit. Embarrassment ensued. Sometimes, when he felt selfish enough to wish for things, Hoshi would think about that evening, and wish he was a bit taller, that his face wasn't so babylike. Then he would take it further. He would wish he was just an average guy with an average face and height, who did average things, whose feet could reach the damn floor when he sat, and was averagely happy because he had killed the average number of people that the average person kills: zero.)

(Lastly, he would remind himself he didn't deserve any of that - or anything else in life. A different sort of death ritual, completed.)  
  
Hanamura was as impressively quick as he'd always been. The chef came barrelling out of the kitchen to greet him personally, several cushions and a footstool in hand. And, once Hoshi's place had been set up, proceeded to kiss him twice on the cheeks. Some sort of French thing, he suspected. A little over-the-top, a little too far, but between the kisses came a whisper that made his heart skip one beat, two, and then _take off,_ and that alone was worth the brief contact.

"As sashimi, or chirinabe?" The chef cupped Hoshi's head in his hands now, gave him that worried-but-admiring look he always did. He smiled into the palms.

"Depends. Which one'll kill me?"

"Oh, the chance is very low on both. And I'm the best there is - I'll be sure to treat you well, Hoshi-kun~"

The same exchange, every time, and yet the adrenaline rush always came crashing back. Hoshi welcomed it; felt like he really was on the run from the world, felt like he was _living._ Not just lasting, or whatever it was he was doing - savouring every breath he took, enjoying the dull thump-thump-thump of his heart. This was why he came back, and back again. 

(And totally not because Hanamura always seemed to care so much about him; always gave him  _that_ stare, always watched him eat to make sure things went smoothly, always offered to taste the dish before his customer. All just a token gesture, he told himself. Something he gave to everyone - hell, probably written in some dusty chef's manual somewhere. And Hoshi's clothes were totally going to smell of kitchen grease in the morning, and he hated to be touched. But he let Hanamura hold him just a little longer, and he wondered...)

"Even if it's just a snowflake's chance in hell, I'll take it," he said, pulling away at long last. "I oughta be in hell, y'know."

Hanamura didn't look scared; never did, no matter how much Hoshi tried to abuse his deep voice and unsettling stare. He just nodded. "You'll have both, then?"

"As usual." 

And with one last, regretful look, Hoshi was left to his own devices again. He spent these few minutes adjusting the cushions, then had a look at the menu; a lengthy tome bound in leather. Same old shit, a heap of stuff with names at least four words long. It held little interest for him; with no pictures available, he found had no idea what half the dishes even were, and didn't particularly want to know what others involved. (The closest Hoshi could figure out was the _'duo of seasoned wholegrain loaf slices, with pomegranate and raspberry preserve, presented as a classic reduction',_ which he took to mean 'jam sandwich, but go make it yourself'.)

Not mentioned was Hanamura's secret speciality: pay him enough, and he'd let you dance with death.

Now, Hoshi wasn't into cheap thrills, or in this case very expensive thrills. But he'd heard the stories from the rooftops he stalked, heard how only the strongest could survive eating a fugu prepared by Teruteru Hanamura. The chef was a master, they said - left just enough poison in to let you experience something like death, and after that it was down to your mettle. Criminals, being rather stupid in Hoshi's eyes, seemed to enjoy this strange game of chicken. Some even saw it as a kind of initiation. Or maybe a sort of redemption; the worse you were, they claimed, the worse Hanamura would make it for you. 

Clearly, either that last part was wrong or Hoshi was already dead. Sixty-five attempts, and he'd only felt a numbness on his tongue  _once!_ He shouldn't have bothered coming here after the second time, but something kept him returning. Something in the... uh... the adrenaline. The fear of death, even though he wanted death so very much. That- yeah, _that_ was totally, definitely it. Or maybe just something to do with the delicious fish. Or laziness.

(Or the wide smile Hanamura gave him whenever he was finished with his meal; the relief so blatant, pooling in his cheeks and wrinkling all around his eyes.)

Think of the devil, and he appears. Or reappeared, in this case, dishes in hand: a rosette of raw poison, and a still-bubbling miniature cauldron of death draught. "Oh, I was expecting you", he purred, reading Hoshi like an open book - the latter looked away as he went on, wondering if his face really showed curiosity that obviously. " _Hoping_ for you, even! It's simply impossible for me to forget about someone so... wonderful.Vibrant."

Hoshi waited pointedly for him to go away, as he always did. And Hanamura only sat opposite the murderer, as _he_ always did; elbows on the table and a smile pulling at his lip. "You just keep on living, even when I make my very worst fugu for you. I think it might be... meant, oui? _Destined_."

"Course you were expecting me", Hoshi growled, not wanting to answer anything else that had been said - not wanting to admit it had been said at all, to be honest. He dug in his backpack for the blindfold, trying to hide his hammering heart with the noise of the zip. God, the chef was making him nervous all over again- no, scratch that, it was clearly the fish. Just the fish. He totally did not react at all when Hanamura raised an eyebrow. "What're you lookin' at?"

"I'm just, mm-hmm, noticing that's new. And wondering, would you like to have a... blind date, so to speak? You could do much, much - _oh_ , so much better than a fish. For instance, _I've_ always harboured a dream of exploring-"

"Not interested", Hoshi grumbled, even though he totally was. Not!  _Not!_  He busied himself with the blindfold to distract himself, tying it around his neck: black, with a logo that matched the crossed rackets on his hat. Might as well look notorious in the pictures they'd take of him after he died, if he ever died and wasn't already dead. The idea behind the item was that with his sight deprived, he might be able to taste this death better... but admittedly, he had a feeling Hanamura would be a pain to convince it was anything besides kinky _._ Why couldn't he just pick a different place for this stupid meal? 

(Because, while Hanamura went too far much of the time, he cared. And at heart, Hoshi _wanted_ to be cared about. But he could never admit that, he would never admit that. Sign of weakness, all that lovey-dovey bullshit. And besides, who could possibly care about someone so horrible? He was just fooling himself, wasn't he?)

"Shall I taste it for you?" asked Hanamura; his fingers inching towards the cutlery were the last thing Hoshi saw before he pulled the cloth up over his eyes, and the world went dark. The murderer growled and reached to try and swipe them away, not wanting the uncertainty of the meal to be lost, but he missed; the next thing he heard was Hanamura tapping perhaps a knife or spoon on the table. "Oho. I know you're very brave, but that blindfold must be making you feel just a little _excited..._ "

"Ugh. Just gimme the fork and guide my hand already", Hoshi grumbled, and did his best not to flinch when Hanamura's hand took his, a finger and thumb wrapped easily around his tiny wrist.

Pause, broken only by the rustle of Hoshi adjusting his blindfold with his free hand (it moved when he flinched) and a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the table. "Y-you'll really trust me with feeding you my meat, Hoshi-kun~?"

"Try it _that_ way, and I'll split your head open." 

And with that, they began.

**Author's Note:**

> *insert _horrible_ reference to that hanamura-needing-Sonia-to-suck-the-poison-out-of-his-dingle thing here*
> 
> Comments are m'lifeblood~


End file.
